


fire in my lungs

by humaankameleonn (nainai96)



Series: Fic Orphanage and Graveyard [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen, and im too lazy to choose a disease, he's dying, its not like a cold tho, sick!fic, so take it as you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:23:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nainai96/pseuds/humaankameleonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a cough.  A dry, rasping cough that isn’t right sounding, that leaves Liam gasping for air for the next twelve minutes.  Nothing would soothe the ache in his throat or the fire burning his lungs.  And it may go away now, but it'll keep coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fire in my lungs

It starts with a cough.  A dry, rasping cough that isn’t _right_ sounding, that leaves Liam gasping for air for the next twelve minutes.  Nothing would soothe the ache in his throat or the fire burning his lungs.  But then it stops so Liam returns to work.

 

 

It happens again two weeks later, while the boys are hanging out in Niall and Liam’s room, except this time it lasts a full half hour and Liam can barely see straight by the time the hacking ceases.  Zayn’s by his side holding out a bottle of water by the time his vision straightens out and he graciously takes the bottle and sips gently, stopping often to regain his breath.  The boys look scared out of their minds but also sick to their stomachs, like they’d just watched someone pass away. 

That night Liam prays to a God that he’s not sure he believes in, prays to never scare his brothers like that again.

 

+

 

 _The prayer failed,_ Liam realizes as he wakes up grasping for oxygen, feeling like every dumbbell he’s ever lifted is sitting on his chest, restricting his lungs.  It’s been three days since the night at the hotel and now he’s starting to feel a little scared himself.  He’s crying, tears laying silent trails down the planes of his cheeks and blurring his vision even further than the coughing has already done.  He tries his hardest to avoid waking the others, but that’s deemed impossible due to the close quarters that the tour bus has forced upon them.  Louis wakes up first, about five minutes into the fit, eyes wide with pure fear when he spies Liam bent double, hands fisted in the sheets.  His landing wakes Niall who gives Liam a double take and is off running, to the front of the bus, out the door, and to the bus in front of them where Paul should be sleeping.  Louis pays him no mind, however, as he attempts to hand the sick boy a packet of crackers and a bottle of water and then takes to gently rubbing his back when his offerings are ignored.

Liam barely takes notice of any of this though, as the dry, rasping cough that used to sit deep in his chest begins to ascend, becoming wetter and more phlegm-filled with each passing second.  He’s surprised to find that _this_ , this is much worse than the desert grating that tore his throat apart, something that he never thought to be possible.  He still can’t catch his breath and his lips are turning a beautiful yet frightening shade of violet that is sure to shock Paul out of the trainers that he hastily threw on after hearing (but not really listening) to the unintelligible jumble of words that jumps out of Niall’s mouth alerting him to something about _Liam_ but not really understanding what it is.

It does give Paul a fright along with the rest of the little surrogate family that’s been thrown and sewn together on the road, and that in turn scares Liam right into the fuzzy, cold nest of unconsciousness that’s been waiting for him.

 

+ 

 

When Liam wakes up, his throat is raw and sore and full and he’s in pain, tears coating his fat lashes and tracking salty trails down his face.  Then Harry is by his side stroking his upper arms in the comforting fashion that his mum used to do to him.  He tenderly wipes away the tears and whispers soft reassurances that yes he’s going to be okay and that the doctor’s going to arrive soon to remove that _wretched_ tube from his throat and explain everything because he’s not quite sure what’s happening because it’s usually Liam that knows all the details but he was the one that was sick and asleep.  He sits and strokes Liam’s hair, calming him and saying things like I’m so sorry, and your mum’s on the tram to the airport because we only just got her on the phone and why the hell is your sister your emergency contact when she’s on a different continent and Louis’ gonna beat you for scaring us like that and Zayn’s crying and Niall refuses to eat and _that_ catches Liam’s attention for just long enough that he forgets about the foreign object lodged down his windpipe and whips his head round.  He doesn’t squeal out in pain though; he just sighs and accepts that yes, he’s sick and _confined_ and worrying his family, but he falls back asleep before the magical doctor can come and detach him.

When he wakes up the second time, everyone’s crowded around him and his mum is there and he’s content for a moment.  But then everyone leaves the room to him and his mum, and she’s telling him that _it’s back_ and he’s been doomed to repeat the past, doomed to repeat the first four years of his life, those years that he spent restricted to the pediatric ward.  Doomed to repeat the nightmares and the surgeries and the needles and MRI’s and CAT scans, doomed to repeat the heart failure, pain and break.

 

+

 

 _The tour’s been cancelled, babe_ ,Louis announces the next day at what Liam supposes might be lunch.  He really doesn’t know how to react so he just nods and pokes at the gelatinous substance adorning his food tray some more, ignoring the fact that Louis’ giving him a Look.  Not any Look either, but the one that says quite clearly that _you’re very, very, very ill and you need to remember that I love you and want to protect you from this ailment._ The one that tells him that he will never be treated the same again, the one that makes him a slight bit sick to his stomach.  The worst thing is that he’s never seen _It_ settled on Louis’ carefree face and it disgusts him a little bit, feeling like he’s contaminated the personification of contentment and blithe joy with the only thing that could neutralize such happiness: pain.  He doesn’t know why it comes out the way that it does when he knows that it’ll only hurt his friend, but maybe he does because he can kind of recall fuzzy scenes of when he was three or four and made everyone uncomfortable, made everyone hate him almost as must as he despised himself.  But he just sits and watches Louis’ face crumple and then blow up in shock and awe as the dry words tumble head over heels over head off his tongue, out of his mouth, through the air and into his band mate’s ears.

“You’re kidding, right mate?  You’ve got to be kidding. I mean, why the _fuck_ would we continue to gallivant all over North America while you’re ill?  You remember what it was like without Zayn and that was only two weeks.”  Louis’ voice has risen and he seems to have found comfort in the ascending volume because it seems like he isn’t about to stop it anytime soon.

“Because there’s a seventy percent chance that I will _die_ before the year end, Lou, and you can’t stop being One Direction just because you blokes are completely unable to see things in a realistic light.”  He knows that he should have waited for the other boys to be there before revealing the fact that _oh yeah, I’m probably not going to survive the next three months so you should start divvying up my solos and such_ , but he doesn’t care about that too much right now as he’s a little more than little upset about the tour being cancelled without his permission.  But then, as he’s about to continue to berate his brother about responsibility and reality, suddenly the world goes black with a cold whirl in his stomach and a scream by his bedside.

 

+

 

When he’s conscious, the words slip past his lips almost as if they had a life of their own. _Seizure or did I just pass out again?_   He opens his eyes to spy each of their faces, crumpled in fear, wet with sadness.  “Seizure it is then.”  The words are sharp with emptiness and he watches Zayn flinch away from the callousness that he has never seen Liam wear before.  He’s not phased in the least by the hurt expression in his best friends eyes; in fact he’s incensed by it, and by the newborn need to make everyone hurt as much as he does.  So maybe that’s why he smirks a bit and gestures to Niall to come sit next to him, ignoring the tension that drapes the blonde boy as he gapes and then stumbles towards his bedridden friend, probably wondering _what’s gotten into him_ , and _why am I exempt from it?_

He sighs and pulls the befuddled boy into his bed and squirms about until Niall can curl into him comfortably without ripping out his IV line.  He lets Niall burrow his overly warm face into the cool place where the smooth skin of his neck meets the sharp line of his collarbone and then parts his legs a little so his friend could slip one between, tangling them as tight as they could go, hand fisted in his hospital gown, eyes shut and breath evening out.   Liam brushes his lips through the atmosphere of Niall’s hair, eyes locked, drowning a little in the fluid familiarity before glancing up to the remains, the dregs of the band and barking in quiet pointed words to  _get the fucking hell out_  before laying a proper kiss onto Niall's forehead and falling back asleep.

 

+

 

Niall’s still bundled up in his arms when he wakes up, legs even farther intertwined than they were when Niall had first cuddled into his arms yesterday, if that’s even possible.  Liam’s nose is buried deep under the blond thatch of hair, inhaling the fumes of _Niall_ and _coconut_ and _oranges_ and letting them overpower the harsh bleach and dish soap scent of the hospital.  He keeps his eyes closed because he likes pretending that he’s just knackered from a show and fell asleep while watching The Incredibles or School of Rock, the Irishman warm and pliant in his arms.  But you can’t dream forever, so he opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling for maybe two minutes before he’s interrupted by a sharp buzz and a loud cursing in the corner of the room.  He lets his gaze slowly float over to the place where the noise came from and frowns internally because he’s not got the strength to move properly.  Harry’s sitting there, Blackberry in hand, a grimace settled deep into the lines of his face, marred far too young, far too deeply, anger etched into his eyes.  Liam’s not sure to whom Harry’s directing his anger but trusts his judgement enough to nod slowly in his direction and kind of smile a bit.  It seems to work and Harry flashes him a grin before standing to leave so he can have a proper screaming match with whoever’s on the phone.  He takes the time to press a Harry kiss to each of the bedded boys’ heads and Liam loves him a little more than usual for it.  When he’s gone Zayn slips into the room and sits close to the bed, whispering a simple _hi_ into his hair before launching into a speech about the medication that Liam started right after the seizure, something about sedative and anti-convulsant and the obvious side effects that might _maybe_ the reason that Liam’s not feeling quite so...mad. 


End file.
